Witch-Hunt
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: The history books taught a lie not only about the goblin wars, but about the witch burnings that were, especially for some of them, much closer to home. [alternate burning-witches history]


**A/N:** Written for the random! AU Competition, alternate history AU. The alternate history I'm choosing is the witch-stuff in the third book. You know, the stuff Harry was doing his homework on while eating ice-cream? Yep, that one.

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**Witch-Hunt  
Prologue**

'Well, of course your book'd say that.' Florence crunched away at his everlasting cone, and Harry was momentarily distracted as he wondered if the cone really would last forever. 'History being rewritten by the winners and all that. But, of course, they don't have complete control; things like that little book from your friend'll slip through.' When Harry didn't look immediately enthusiastic, he added. 'If the goblins were as demeanours as the history books say, you think they'd be working at Gringotts?'

Harry had to confess he didn't pay much attention in History of Magic classes.

Florence laughed. 'Can't say I blame ya,' he said, 'but history's important. Here, try one of these.' He handed Harry a never-ending cone heaped with two of Bertie Bott's every ice-cream flavour. Harry accepted the free treat – yesterday, or the day before, he'd learnt it was hopeless to argue with the proprietor… unless one knew a good Killing curse and knew how to use it.

'And you've proven that's not infallible too,' Florence had said, giving a sidelong glance to Harry's scar.

Harry bit into his ice-cream, then screamed silently as he fanned his mouth. 'Too hot,' he gasped, before checking himself as the sting fled as quickly as it came. 'Too spicy.'

Florence laughed. 'Every flavour,' he reminded, heaping his own cone with two new scoops. 'Luck of the draw.' He took a bite, confirmed it to be butterbeer to his pleasure, then continued. 'To continue with our country's less than pure history, the story of Geller Grindleward for instance. You heard that one?'

'Only that he was a Dark wizard that Dumbledore defeated,' Harry confessed.

'Dark wizard,' Florence muttered. 'Granted, that's what all the history books and chocolate cards'll get ya. But let me ask you this: if he's such a great Dark wizard who done all these allegedly horrible things- not unlike Voldermort – ' Harry blinked in surprise, and Florence grinned his approval. He might turn Harry's entire understanding of history upside down, but Harry was liking him more by the minute. ' – would he be in Nrumengard? Why not Azkaban? Why not the kiss? Lesser criminals have gone down for lesser crimes, or so they say.' Florence shrugged. 'Nurmengard's pretty good as far as Wizarding prisons go.'

'So there aren't any Demeanours there?' Harry asked, comparing that to what he knew of the Wizarding equivalent of Alcatraz.

'None whatsoever.' Florence shook his head, looking as though he was about to add something, before changing his mind. 'They have a more reasonable security system in my opinion, though. Azkaban may be the only Wizarding prison in England, but in other countries it's only for criminals of the worst kind.'

Harry noted that to talk to Hermione and Ron about. He knew they'd – or just Hermione, if Ron was used to hearing about how poorly the Wizarding world seemed to be sometimes run – be indignated on Hagrid's behalf. 'Hagrid who hadn't even done anything wrong, who'd been blamed by the testimony of a deranged high school student.

His thoughts strayed to Sirius Black before floating away. Blowing up twelve Muggles in a street was pretty bad, but Azkaban sounded even worse. 'Is there anyone who deserves Azkaban, you think?'

Florence had finished his double scoop and was nibbling on the cone again. 'Who knows,' he said eventually. 'The problem is that history's always rewritten by the winners. They don't say how Azkaban started, do they? Or the Dementors? It's just the place where the bad people go, isn't it?'

Harry half shrugged, half nodded. He felt very out of his depth, with Florence sounding so vehement yet looking so stony… as though the story had started somewhere close to home.

Florence didn't seem to notice that, or Harry's melting ice cream. 'Eat up,' he said, staring vacantly into space. Harry had to catch himself from taking another huge gulp of chilly flavour. 'For your assignment, you'll have to give the official information, I'm afraid.' He sounded defeated now. 'The real story'll die, because less and less people want to hear it.'

'I'd like to hear it,' Harry said, feeling sorry for the kind man.


End file.
